


'twas in another lifetime (one of toil and blood)

by xdandelionxbloomx



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Magic, Mystery, Older Jaskier, amnesia fic kinda, hence the graphic violence tag, kinda a bit of mind control but not between Geralt and Jaskier, post mountain, pretty graphic description of a murder towards the second half, this takes place a few years after the mountain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25696522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdandelionxbloomx/pseuds/xdandelionxbloomx
Summary: The source of the laughter was a man.It was… eerie.The man reminded him so, so much of--(A shock of yellow eyes beneath pale lashes - “Why are you staring?”)But the man before him was leaner than he remembered, eyes green with a shock of long auburn hair on his head worn pulled up into a ponytail. It was cinched with a tattered navy ribbon. He had a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose and on his high cheekbones - a short, well groomed beard covered his chin and Jaskier felt a bit like he was looking at a ghost.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 361





	'twas in another lifetime (one of toil and blood)

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics in the fic come from Draw Your Swords by Angus & Julia Stone - the title comes from Shelter from the Storm by Bob Dylan. Quotes at the beginning and end are from The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle. 
> 
> TW: Amnesia kinda, mind control kinda, graphic description of a murder of a monster
> 
> SPOILERS: Mind control in terms of villagers not actually being mentally there, but rather like... puppets kind of

_“Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name.”_

**_\- Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn_ **

**i.**

It was spring. 

The birds sang and the sun shone, thawing out the world. 

Jaskier had taken to the road - over the winter he’d let his hair grow out. It curled around his jaw, messy and wild from travel. 

At each temple, a streak of grey. 

He was, after all, growing older. 

Jaskier had never quite managed to get the gene that gave him that _biological clock_ everyone raved about. He had never longed for children or a home or a place to settle. 

Certainly there were days he longed for rest, but all too often he’d start itching for the sprawl of a road before him, the promise of adventure in the air. 

So, it was spring. 

Jaskier was on the road once more - his path had taken him away from Oxenfurt. 

(Responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders, like a thick coat that didn’t quite fit, seams all incorrect--)

The wilds of Velen were not necessarily safe, but they _were_ away. 

Jaskier needed distance more than anything else currently. 

It was spring. 

Jaskier was on the road. 

He crested a hill - the noises of a village carried to him, but within the clamor, one sound-- 

Laughter. 

Deep, warm, bone-shaking laughter. 

Jaskier wondered if he had ever heard such a beautiful laugh. 

**ii.**

The source of the laughter was a man. 

It was… eerie. 

The man reminded him so, so much of-- 

(A shock of yellow eyes beneath pale lashes - “Why are you staring?”)

But the man before him was leaner than he remembered, eyes green with a shock of long auburn hair on his head worn pulled up into a ponytail. It was cinched with a tattered navy ribbon. He had a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose and on his high cheekbones - a short, well groomed beard covered his chin and Jaskier felt a bit like he was looking at a ghost. 

That or a Skellige warrior displaced in the strangest way.

“Ah!” The man’s rough voice carried above the din, raising a hand in a wave. “We haven’t had a traveler in so long! What brings you to our village, bard?” 

His pine green eyes sparkled and Jaskier found himself in trouble. 

“Merely passing through.” Jaskier called back, and darted around a stray goat, batting it away when it tried to catch the edge of his doublet. It _baa’d_ at him in offense and he opened his mouth to release a scathing comment, but the laughter that came from the man distracted him. 

It was so open and when Jaskier turned his gaze on him once more, he found the man’s eyes crinkling at the corners with his mirth, the bridge of his nose scrunched with the force of his open mouthed grin. 

He was, in short, beautiful. 

Jaskier tried not to ogle. 

“Rosie likes shiny things.” The man informed him, gesturing him forward. Jaskier crossed the rest of the way over to where the man was standing, what looked like a bridle in his hand. “I’d advise you to find a place to stay, though. The woods are dangerous after dark - especially in the direction you were heading.” The grin had faded a little, eyes not losing their light but still serious. 

Jaskier let a hand go to fiddle with the strap of his lute in a habit he had never quite broken. He parted his lips to tell the man that he very well knew danger _thank you very much_ -

“Besides. If you stay for a bit we’ll be having a festival soon anyhow. We don’t have much to give by ways of coin, but we’ll have drink and dancing.” His voice was inviting and open and Jaskier _should_ say no. 

He wasn’t aware of any holidays coming up and something felt inherently-- 

Off. 

And yet-- 

“Well, I suppose you ought to point me towards the inn, then.” Jaskier said, giving a slight nod and a smile of his own. “I have a terribly hard time turning down a good party.” 

Here, the man’s smile twisted into something a little different - more of a smirk. His gaze wandered over Jaskier in a way that made the bard bite his bottom lip. 

For a moment, he felt again like a school boy admiring one of the university’s stable boys - 

“You could just stay with me.” The man before him lifted a brow, meeting Jaskier’s gaze in something like a challenge. 

Jaskier swallowed thickly. 

“And what sort of fee would you be asking, then?” He asked, lashes lowered. 

**iii.**

The man’s name was Eric. 

It rang with some sort of familiarity, though every time he tried to chase it, it seemed to evade him. It was on the edges of his memory, like a shadow at the corner of the eye that one could never quite catch. 

Eric’s bed was surprisingly soft, and Jaskier had gone easily when he’d been pressed down into it. 

Now, bared and sated, Jaskier’s fingers trailed over the curve of his collarbone. 

“Does every traveler get such a warm welcome?” Jaskier can’t help but joke softly, lifting his head from Eric’s shoulder, propping himself up on his elbow to peer down at the man. 

Another one of those deep laughs, softer now, though, gentle. 

A large, calloused hand reached up to brush Jaskier’s hair back behind his ear. 

“No.” He answered, simply, head tipped. “But I’m afraid you were just too beautiful to resist.” 

Jaskier hated that it brought heat to his cheeks - he wasn’t a fresh-faced eighteen year old anymore. He shouldn’t _feel_ like this. 

A soft smack to Eric’s chest. 

“Hush.” Jaskier said, his hand creeping up to brush his fingers over those infuriatingly charming freckles. “As if you’re one to talk.” He murmured, quietly, a curve of his lips that was almost _shy_. 

“Hm.” Eric hummed and Jaskier’s heart stopped for a moment - 

(“I am _begging_ you, talk in sentences for once.” He scrubbed his hands through silver hair, trying to get rid of the fucking _twigs_ and was that-- that was definitely some flesh--)

“I find myself incredibly lucky that you think so.” Eric’s voice was soft and quiet in a way he had not heard in a long time. It made him melt, leaning down to press his forehead against the other man’s. 

“You’re sweet.” Jaskier had the strangest urge to weep fall upon him, throat tight, eyes prickling. 

“I think the road’s simply been unkind to you.” Eric’s hand cupped his cheek, warm and careful and his mouth was so soft when their lips brushed. 

If Jaskier shed a few tears, neither of them mentioned it. 

**iv.**

They were both sweaty. 

If Jaskier had more energy, he would demand they at least wipe down, but truthfully he couldn’t imagine moving from where he lay. 

It had long passed midnight and he curled towards Eric, the two of them parentheses - open and close, cooling in the evening air creeping through Eric’s open window. 

He had a moment to simply watch Eric’s drowsy eyes close, basking in the simplicity of being with someone else. 

“Will you sing to me?” Eric asked, suddenly, and though it was barely a whisper it felt like it shook Jaskier’s bones. 

“Why would you want that? Have you not yet tired of my voice?” Jaskier teased, to cover up the way his heart felt as if it had been torn open and healed all at once. 

“No.” Eric answered and with seemingly great effort, he forced his eyes open. “Who could? It’s lovely.” 

Before the urge to weep could overtake him once more, he cleared his throat and propped himself up a little against the pillows. 

“I suppose I can manage something.” Jaskier reached out, gently brushing his fingers through the red hair that spilled over the bed like flames, tucking some of it behind Eric’s ear. 

After a few moments of thought, he hummed a soft, nearly shaky tune - one he had not yet sung for anyone else. 

“ _I feel like a fool_ …” Jaskier crooned, hushed. “ _I ain’t got nothing left to give_ …” 

Eric’s eyes fell shut once more as Jaskier’s fingers brushed over his temple. 

“ _Nothing left to lose_ …” His chest ached - a mix of grief and fondness, so strange and unexpectedly strong that it stole his breath. 

“ _So come on Love, draw your swords…_ ” Jaskier stifled a yawn, head tipping further into the pillows as Eric’s breathing began to slow. 

He hummed the tune as long as he could keep his eyes open, though it wasn’t much longer. He, too, fell to slumber and didn’t wake until the morning when Eric stirred. 

**v.**

They went on a hunting trip to help prepare for the celebrations to come. 

Eric’s horse was a stocky grey thing, feet feathered. 

“He’s meant to pull carts and such. It made him a cheap buy since he’s afraid of them.” Eric had chuckled as he tacked the stallion up, watching as Jaskier gently brushed his hand over a soft muzzle. 

Far more receptive to touch than _other_ horses that he had been around in his time. 

“C’mon.” Eric, after he’d climbed up into the saddle, offered his hand down to Jaskier like they’d done this a thousand times before. 

Jaskier looked up at him - 

He grasped the hand, let him help him up onto the back of the horse. 

“What’s his name?” Jaskier asked, winding his arms around Eric’s middle. 

“Silver.” Eric offered, with a laugh - “I know, you don’t need to tell me. It’s on the nose. I’m not very good at naming things.” 

Jaskier pressed his face into his shoulder to avoid the painful lurch his heart gave - nearly a perfect echo of words from long ago. 

They rode in silence for a while - Jaskier had things he wanted to say, but wasn’t sure how - or if he should - put them to words. 

This felt like a trap - something terrible was going to happen. He could feel it lurking. Too much was too good, too kind - this was not the world that Jaskier had come to know in his many years alive. 

And yet he could not bring himself to tear himself away, to move on, to put this warmth behind him. 

“Whoever you love is very lucky.” Eric murmured, dropping a hand to rest on the arms that Jaskier had still wrapped around his waist. 

“I used to think that.” Jaskier answered, almost immediately. He breathed out slowly through his nose in a tired sigh. “But I’m not so sure anymore. I think, maybe, I really did make his life harder without bringing him any happiness in the end.” He admitted, hooking his chin over Eric’s shoulder, nosing at his jaw as if it might soothe him. 

“I doubt that.” Eric replied, gentle. 

“You don’t know me.” Jaskier huffed. 

“I think I do, a little.” Eric turned his head to press a soft kiss to Jaskier’s cheek without turning his gaze from the trail as they picked their way through the trees. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn about someone when you lay with them.” 

Jaskier hummed a low noise, nearly a grumble. “And what, exactly, did you learn about me, hm?” 

“That you’re kind.” It was immediate and Jaskier’s heart did strange things in his chest. “That you have a way with words that is beautiful, beyond anything I could ever begin to understand. I also know that you carry some great sorrow. I can see it - it hangs around you like the haze before a storm. I don’t know what happened, but I am sorry.” 

The voice rumbled against his chest where he was plastered to his back and Jaskier’s throat closed up again. 

He swallowed thickly a few times. 

“That’s unfair.” He rasped, softly, and Eric laughed - though it did not hold the unabashed joy that it had before. 

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” 

**vi.**

Eric used a bow and arrow to take down two deer. 

They end up draped over Silver’s back and they walk on foot back, Jaskier humming random snippets of songs on the way. 

“What’s this celebration for, anyways?” Jaskier asked, curiously, wracking his brain to remember any holidays around this time. 

The Solstice had already passed, though, and Beltane had yet to come. 

A pause as Eric’s brow furrowed. 

Odd. 

“I-- don’t actually know.” The man admitted, and rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s just always been something we’ve done. It’s important to us.” 

Jaskier pursed his lips. 

“You said there was drink and dancing - what else?” 

“Well, there’s offerings.” Eric sighed after a few moments - “Some of the alcohol is put in a place just outside the forest. You’ll see it tomorrow.” He added, “But some people can’t manage the alcohol, so there’s options for jewelry, fruit, and bones.” 

A sharp chill ran down Jaskier’s back. 

(“Wait, you’re telling me the fair folk are _real_?” Jaskier’s voice incredulous as he looked over at--)

“You give these offerings and you don’t know _why_?” Jaskier asked, looking over at Eric. He frowned, wishing he’d brought his lute, fingers curling and uncurling into fists. 

“It’s tradition.” Eric said, like _Jaskier_ was the strange one. 

“But if it’s tradition, shouldn’t you remember the reason _why_?” 

A frown. 

“I think you’re thinking too hard. Do you know the reason behind all your traditions?” Eric asked, curiously. 

“ _Yes_.” Jaskier answered, exasperated. “I do.” He shook his head a little bit, crossing his arms. 

“Hm.” 

(“They’re not what you think they are. They can be _cruel_ , Jaskier.”) 

**vii.**

The warmth felt somehow wrong now. 

Something was wrong here, terribly wrong, and Jaskier knew it. He simply didn’t know how to even begin to investigate. 

He prodded Eric for some information, but it’d made him surprisingly taciturn compared to what he’d been when Jaskier first arrived. 

When he started to skin the deer, Jaskier slipped away with an excuse rolling off his tongue. 

Mostly he wanted to speak to another villager - or two. 

He wandered down the main road, ambling towards a woman who was carefully hanging up her laundry. 

“Hello!” Jaskier called, watching her startle. She turned to him and that same prickling came back, that uncertainty. 

Her _eyes_. 

They were deep and empty - dead. 

He had seen it before in people pushed past their breaking point, people whose minds had left their bodies, working on habit rather than any real drive. 

“Hello.” She greeted, placidly. 

“So sorry to bother you.” Jaskier said, opening his mouth to ask another question. She looked through him, though, hardly seeming to process his presence now that she’d registered him as non-threatening. “I-- Have a lovely day, dear.” He said, with a nod of his head, smile crooked as he turned away, concern bubbling up from the pit of his stomach. 

His smile dropped when he was sure she wouldn’t see, reaching a hand up to scrub it through his hair. 

Jaskier returned to Eric, brushing a hand through his hair, sweeping it over his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry about earlier.” He murmured, by the man’s ear, even though he really wasn’t. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” That part at least was true. 

Eric heaved a sigh, his shoulder moving beneath Jaskier’s palm. 

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t expect you to understand.” He set his knife aside to reach up, patting Jaskier’s hand. 

Jaskier swallowed thickly. 

“Sing to me while I work?” Eric requested. 

Jaskier’s heart gave a hard thump despite the creeping feeling and he gave a slight smile. “Alright.” He agreed, and circled around to sit in front of the other man, raising his voice in an upbeat traveling song. 

**viii.**

Jaskier thought about leaving. 

He had laid in bed with Eric that night, staring at the ceiling of the little cottage. 

He could have left under the cover of dark, left behind only his memory to those in the village. 

(“We could go to the coast.” Jaskier tried to say, voice thick. The man beside him sat looking out over the landscape and Jaskier wanted, just once, for him to look at him in a moment like this - so that Jaskier could _see_ -)

Jaskier stayed. 

Eric had taken some of the meat down into what had looked like an outdoor cellar earlier in the day and Jaskier _knew_ it was a bad idea to go. 

He knew. 

Still, sometime past midnight Jaskier slipped out from the circle of Eric’s arms. He dressed and carefully crept out of the house, out to the cellar. 

It was not locked - he hadn’t expected to be. 

The blanket of wrongness told him that the town wasn’t necessarily trustworthy, but rather compliant. 

He hooked his hands in the heavy door, hauling it open with a soft grunt. The hinges creaked and he paused for a long minute, holding his breath and listening. 

When he was sure it was clear, he took the ladder down. 

There was a lantern burning in the middle of the room, illuminating some of the hanging meat. 

That wasn’t what was of interest. 

Instead, across the room, something gleamed in the dim light. It peeked out from beneath a thick woolen blanket and Jaskier’s breath caught. 

He picked his way across the cellar and hooked his fingers in the fabric, pulling the blanket away to reveal his fear. 

Two swords. 

(“Silver for monsters, steel for men.”) 

His fingers brushed over the flat of the blade featherlight, tears prickling at his eyes. 

("And some creatures." The rough voice added, after a pause - and apparently the key to getting him talking had always just been asking him about monster facts.)

 _Oh_ , Jaskier thought. 

He wrapped the swords in the blanket once more, heaving them up under his arm. It was a juggling act to get up and out of the cellar, but he managed - although he was breathless when he made it. 

He lay in the grass under the stars for a few minutes, staring at the sky and wondering _why_ it was always a situation so terribly deep and complicated. 

Jaskier hefted himself to his feet and carefully closed the cellar door, carrying the swords back to Eric’s home.

He understood, now, why he was a walking ghost. 

Jaskier was so sure he was going to wake the man, but he slept deep and hard - peaceful. The shuffling and tinkling of metal didn’t even cause him to stir as Jaskier rolled up the swords in his bedroll. 

He had seen-- 

It had been done to sneak the swords into a city before.

He could only pray that it worked this time.

**ix.**

Jaskier’s fingers danced over the lute, voice raised in song. 

The villagers were smiling, dancing, yelling-- but their eyes all remained so empty. 

Eric’s gaze was a warm, heavy weight. It made Jaskier want to squirm, but he couldn’t confront him - not yet. If his suspicion was correct, he hadn’t a clue what was happening here. 

The bonfire’s flames licked at the sky and Jaskier danced about it with the villagers, but despite his upbeat songs his focus was elsewhere. 

It was late into the night - or perhaps early in the morning, depending on how one wanted to look at it - when the celebration began to retire. 

Villagers, one by one, began making their way towards the forest. 

A hand landed on his elbow eventually and Jaskier turned to look at Eric, seeing the expression on his face. It made his hands fall away from his lute and he took a deep breath. 

“Alright.” He murmured, lips pulled into a strained smile. “Just… give me a minute to get my pack? I wanted to bring something myself.” He murmured, and pressed a kiss to Eric’s cheek. 

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to, but go ahead.” The other man murmured and Jaskier immediately slipped away from him. He left the lute in the little cottage and grabbed up the bedroll, holding it to his chest as he followed Eric towards where the rest of the villagers had gone. 

They arrive at the edge of the forest - a small, well-trod path leads through the winding trees. They follow it until they reach a clearing where the rest of the small village is sitting, staring emptily at the large stump in front of them. 

It dipped low in the middle, cradling all of their offerings. 

Eric squeezed his elbow and stepped forward, picking his way through the seated villagers until he reached the stump. 

There, he placed down a tankard of the ale he had been drinking earlier. He stepped back to kneel down and seat himself as well, looking back at Jaskier. 

The air felt _electric_ \- 

He could practically taste the lightning strike on his tongue - 

(“Why is it like that when you use Aard and such?” Jaskier asked, quill scratching against his parchment. “Chaos.” Was the only answer he got,the voice rough and annoyed - as if he should _know_.)

Jaskier stepped forward, up to the stump. He looked over the offerings and clumsily - without dropping the bedroll - pushed off one of the rings he tended to wear. It fell with a soft thump to the wood and Eric made a soft noise behind him, puzzled. 

It cut off halfway through, though, and the wind stopped mid-breeze. 

It was deadly silent. 

A quick glance over his shoulder - the villagers had frozen as they sat at attention, blank gazes staring into the trees. 

Even Eric’s face had gone slack, void of emotion. 

Jaskier’s stomach twisted. 

“You’re new.” A melodic voice rang out from the depths of the trees. 

**x.**

With only the moonlight to help him see, the figure in front of him wasn’t quite clear. 

The edges seemed to blur, features never fully settling - 

It was delicate, long limbs and a slim waist. Long delicate fingers moved as if plucking strings in the air, eyes deep and dark and Jaskier looked away before he could be sucked into them. 

“Passing through.” Jaskier murmured, grip adjusting on the bedroll a bit. 

“And your _name_ , traveler?” The figure stepped further out into the clearing, moonlight highlighting its features. 

Skin glimmered, reflecting the light in a way he had never seen before, ears long and pointed - thin lips pulled back to reveal a mouth of razor sharp teeth. 

Those clever fingers plucked up a deer femur from the stump, popping one side into its mouth. 

Jaskier felt the urge rising in him until it _burned_ and he gasped softly. 

“Jaskier.” He blurted and the fae purred, making their way closer. 

“ _Jaskier_ .” It repeated and _something_ washed over him. It felt a bit like standing at the edge of the sea, the waves pushing at his shins, but never with enough pressure to budge him. 

Jaskier blinked at the fae. 

“What have you got there? The truth?” The fae asked, leaning its hip against the stump, still chewing on the bone as it stared him down. 

Jaskier swallowed thickly, feeling the push again. 

Less of a push, really, and more of a pressure - right between his eyes. It never grew unbearable, though. 

“A bedroll.” 

The fae watched him for a few moments and then rolled its shoulders in a shrug. The movement made something glimmer in the air behind it. 

Wings. 

Transparent and thin to the point of being invisible - only when the light hit it just right did they appear, shifting colors like a moonstone.

Jaskier inhaled softly. 

“I heard you singing earlier.” The fae said, reaching down with its free hand to pick up the ring he had left in the stump. It turned it over in its hand for a moment, sliding it onto one of those long, clever fingers. “You’ve got quite the voice.” 

“Thank you.” Jaskier managed, biting the inside of his cheek. He hoped it couldn’t hear his heart beating as wildly as it was. 

“Sing for me.” It was a command, even without the pressure. 

Jaskier didn’t hesitate, immediately raising his voice in the lullaby he had sung before, hands tightening around the bedroll in his arms. 

“ _Cause you are… the only one._ ” It carried through the clearing and the fae’s eyes softened just a bit around the edges. 

Jaskier did not want to think about what he had to do. 

“ _Cause you are… the only one._ ” The fae stepped forward towards him, reaching out to brush his hair back from his forehead. It towered a solid two feet above him and Jaskier let out a shaky breath. 

“ _I see them snakes come through the ground - they choke me to the bone_.” Jaskier’s voice felt so open, naked and honest without the strings to accompany it. 

“ _They tie me to their wooden chair. Here are all my songs…_ ” Jaskier’s fingers carefully undid the buckle on the bedroll. 

“ _So come on Love, draw your swords_.” It fell open, and Jaskier’s fingers caught the handle of the steel blade, only fumbling a bit as the fae leaped back. 

Jaskier hefted the blade and lunged forward before it could flee - if it turned tail now, he’d never get a chance. 

“Stop!” It cried, and the pressure smacked his head, dizzying him, but it wasn’t enough to stop the blade from piercing through the creature’s ribs. It screamed and Jaskier knew, instinctively, he had done something unforgivable. 

This was old, ancient Chaos that he was interfering with. 

“Your _name_ \--” It gasped, bone having fallen to the ground, hands wrapping around the blade, slicing palms. Silver blood that turned black the moment it touched the steel blade sizzled. 

“Only my chosen one.” Jaskier twisted the blade. “I’m sorry.” He said, honestly, steadying his arms. 

“Don’t.” It pleaded. “I was making it better for them. They didn’t have to worry. I was taking care of them. They were _mine_.” 

“It doesn’t work that way.” Jaskier said, mournfully, and felt tears spill over as he yanked the sword up. 

Sick crunching, slicing, blood gushing - it tore the fae open to its throat. It gurgled, going limp as it crumpled to the ground. 

It seemed a million things happened at once. 

**xi.**

Jaskier’s body was consumed in fire. 

His grip on the sword faltered and it clattered to the ground as he cried out, hunching over, kneeling in the bloodied grass. 

Light flared behind him, ash drifting from behind him as the wind began to blow once more. 

An anguished wail, a cry, a death rattle - 

Jaskier planted his palms against slick grass and tried to breathe. 

And then - 

Palms on his shoulders. 

“Jaskier.” 

It was a rough voice, one he thought he’d never hear again. It made tears flow anew and he gasped out a sound - acknowledgement. Arms hauled him up, gathering Jaskier to his chest, cradling him. 

As they turned, Jaskier caught a glimpse of the clearing. 

Corpses. 

Some new, an older man and woman he had not seen before - 

Some old, skeletons of a child and a few adults - 

They littered the clearing where villagers had once been. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” 

“I had to.” Jaskier replied, simply, head lolling back in exhaustion, pain overwhelming. 

“You didn’t.” 

“I did. It was you, wasn’t it?” Jaskier asked, before the first crack of thunder, lightning striking the stump behind Geralt. It set it alight and Jaskier watched it burn as he was carried out of the clearing. 

The moment they entered the trees, the downpour started. 

He was cold and exhausted and at some point he passed out, waking somewhat dry, the sound of a fire crackling nearby. 

The sound of a sword on whetstone made him blink his eyes open, realizing there was a roof over his head. 

It was such a surreal moment - so close to what it had been like years ago, when-- 

When--

“Jaskier.” The rough voice came. “I know you’re awake.” 

Jaskier turned his head and sitting there, beside the small fire, was the one man he never thought he’d see again. 

Hair and beard orange in the light of the fire, for a moment he looked like Eric. 

The eyes gave it away, though. Those yellow-gold eyes peered at him over the fire, hands pausing in the sword sharpening. 

The scars sent into sharp relief, too, made Jaskier sigh. There was a new one over his eye, pink and fresh.

Every muscle in his body _ached_. 

“Geralt.” He said, or breathed, or whimpered - 

It hardly mattered when it felt as if his chest was collapsing in on itself and swelling all at once. He closed his eyes to try to bear it. 

When he opened them again, Geralt was _right there_. 

“You’ve no idea what you’ve done.” The witcher murmured, reaching out. He touched Jaskier’s forehead with cool fingers, brushing back his sweaty hair. 

“I saved you.” Jaskier mumbled - “That’s all that matters.” 

And it was. 

He smiled, somewhat wistfully, and slipped right back into unconsciousness. 

**( & xii.) **

The sun shone through the broken windows. 

In the light of day, the pretty little cottage that Eric had was rotted, falling apart around them. There was a hole in the roof and the fire that Geralt had made the night before was smoking slightly after having died the hour before. 

Jaskier was exhausted despite having been in and out of consciousness for the past few hours. 

He felt-- 

Different. 

At some point, he caught a glimpse of his hands - they were stained, glimmering in the light with a metallic sheen that simply wouldn’t go away. 

Geralt roused from his meditating to see him like that, staring dumbly at the way the light sparkled off his skin. 

“The Chaos that was released when you killed it.” Geralt murmured, quietly, pushing himself up from where he was kneeling. He closed the space between them and perched on the edge of the shitty mattress, peering down at Jaskier. 

“It’s changed you. I don’t know how much yet, but I can feel it. You hold some of it now.” Geralt cleared his throat, eyes anywhere but Jaskier’s face. 

They stayed like that for a long moment. Just when Jaskier was thinking of reaching out, Geralt spoke. 

“I looked for you. _Was_ looking for you when--” Geralt paused. “There was a woman. She asked my name. I didn’t think twice.” The witcher’s lips twisted and Jaskier could _feel_ the waves radiating off of him. 

“Not your fault. Fae aren’t typically in this realm, right?” Jaskier mumbled, voice melodic and still a bit rough. He swallowed thickly, wincing as he dropped his hands back to the bed. 

Silence for a beat. 

“Do you… remember?” Jaskier asked, quietly, searching Geralt’s profile. 

The witcher closed his eyes. 

“Yes.” He said, like it pained him. 

Jaskier turned his gaze away. “We needn’t speak of it.”

“I don’t--” Geralt paused, voice slightly frustrated. “I don’t regret it.” He settled on and finally opened his eyes as he turned to look at Jaskier. 

Jaskier inhaled sharply, but could not yet bring himself to look at the witcher again. 

“I am… sorry.” Geralt got out. “That I made you… feel the way I did. I should never have said those things.” 

Jaskier closed his eyes against the prickling in his eyes. 

“You have brought me more happiness than I want to admit, Jaskier. I… there were times I was sure I had forgotten how to laugh until-- until you came, being a mad bastard, strolling right up to me.” 

“Fuck.” Jaskier said, wetly, “You know I’m going to forgive you, you prick.” 

Geralt looked at him, startled, and Jaskier wrenched his eyes open, meeting his gaze. 

“You shouldn’t.” Geralt managed, weakly. 

“Stop telling me what I should or shouldn’t do. Gods.” Jaskier reached up his hands, wiping away the tears that had spilled over. “I’m free to make my own choices and it’s _always_ going to be you. Always.”

Large, rough hands brushed his own away from his face, cupping his cheeks and sweeping away his tears. 

Their first _real_ kiss tasted like tears. 

And _Gods_ , did Jaskier love it. 

Love him. 

_This time, there was too much of it for him to hold; it spilled through his fingers and toes, welled up equally in his eyes and his hair and the hollows of his shoulders. There was too much to hold — too much ever to use; and still he found himself weeping with the pain of his impossible greed. He thought, or said, or sang, I did not know that I was so empty, to be so full._

**_― Peter S. Beagle , The Last Unicorn_ **

**Author's Note:**

> I'm xdandelionxbloomx on tumblr as well if you want to come talk to me there!


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